


Gotham City's Finest

by A_M_Kelley



Series: Happy Holidays, You Bastards! [7]
Category: DC Extended Universe, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Authority Figures, Bondage, Cop Fetish, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, Halloween, Handcuffs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Painplay, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Spanking, This Is STUPID, Tumblr Prompt, Uniform Kink, Way too long just for tasteless smut, a tad bit of Gobblepot as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_M_Kelley/pseuds/A_M_Kelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When he finally makes it back to his office and swings the door open he’s greeted to the sight of Victor leaning against his desk, decked out in an official GCPD uniform that still had blood on it from where the hitman had shot the officer in the gut. The whole get up was complete with a baton, cuffs, and even a hat, which Victor pulled off tremendously by the way.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>**!!Happy Halloween!!**</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotham City's Finest

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt on Tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> <http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/100736285568/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-dressed-up-as-a-sexy>

Oswald has always been fond of Halloween ever since he was a child. He wasn’t the most well off kid growing up and, as such, this resulted in his mother making most of his costumes. They weren’t always the best or most inspired costumes, but it guaranteed him at least a month’s worth of candy and that was enough to keep him happy. It was really the only time of year where he felt equal with everyone else.

Now that he’s older and has more power, he doesn’t really feel the need to dress up or beg for candy anymore.

That doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t celebrate Halloween anymore, however. He still had his constituents dress up in spirit of things. Some he personally picked out and others he gave free range to. Butch was one of the few he hand picked a costume for which proved to be more so amusing on his part, if not for Butch.

The costume in question was reminiscent of that of a disney princess or even better yet a fairy. Complete with a pink tutu, wand, and matching tiara that couldn’t quite keep from slipping off of his head throughout the night. Oswald even made sure the tutu was a size too small just so he could see Butch having to constantly pull it up.

He even put on a themed show for the night for only the most prestigious crowd to enjoy and, of course, costumes were mandatory. There were a few patrons who didn’t quite follow that rule, but he let a select few slide because he genuinely respected them and their positions in the underworld. However, there was one person in particular who obviously didn’t get the memo or actually thought they could disobey a direct order.

Now, Oswald would consider himself to be quite fond of Victor Zsasz and his exceptional work and the hitman had proved on many occasions that he wasn’t hesitant to follow an order. That was the main reason why he kept the man around, not because he was good at what he did, but because he was disciplined and organized. Which is why he was quite shocked, and insulted, when Victor showed up in his normal clothing.

Oswald’s face immediately radiated heat and he was sure his cheeks were a bright pink, and it wasn’t because of alcohol. Oswald wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed by Victor’s display of defiance in front of all his patrons and constituents or if he got off a little by Victor’s ballsy move. Either way he found himself stalking over towards the hired gun.

Everyone knew that anyone who blatantly disobeyed Oswald would be dealt with in anyway he saw fit and Victor was no exception. Though, Oswald was inclined to give him another chance, seeing as how much he appreciated Victor’s loyalty up until this point. That and because he he had a thing for Victor if he were being honest with himself.

Victor was sitting at the bar knocking back a few shots as Oswald approached him with a storm cloud above his head the size of Arkham. Oswald swore he saw one corner of Victor’s mouth curl upwards in a half smile as he approached, but he could easily blame it on the dim lighting. He came to a stop just beside the stool Victor sat at and propped one arm on the counter with an indignant huff to get the man’s attention.

“Did you forget something?” Oswald inquires with a mocking tone.

Victor regards him with a quick side glance as if he’s disinterested by this conversation already.

“Oh, right,” Victor says, turning back towards the barkeep. “Give my buddy here a free round.”

The man behind the counter nods once and sets out to pour Oswald a drink of whatever Victor had been drinking. Oswald has half a mind to swat the shot away like a spoiled child, but he plays it cool and knocks back the bitter liquid with a sour expression. Victor lets out a short little chuckle at this and slams his own drink back.

“Happy?” Victor asks sardonically, knowing he’s testing Oswald's patience.

“I would be if that were the problem and I already didn’t get drinks for free here, seeing as how this is _my_ club,” Oswald snaps, getting bent out of shape over Victor’s petulance. He puts a hand on his hip and glares sourly at the hitman. “Did you not remember what I told you two weeks in advance?”

“What? About the costumes?” Victor offers nonchalantly as if this was all just a game for him.

“Oh, so you admit that you remember me giving everyone specific orders,” Oswald goes onto interrogate. Victor just shrugs and Oswald swears he’s about to pull a muscle over how bent out of shape he is over Victor. “And you thought this didn’t apply to you, why?”

“I don’t do Halloween,” Victor states as if that’s final, but knowing Oswald Victor is sure he won’t let it go that easily.

Oswald could feel his blood boiling just beneath the surface of his skin and he had to restrain himself from slapping Victor across the face this very instant in front of everyone. It’s like Victor _knew_ he could get away with sassing Oswald around like a little brat. If the knowing smirk on his face didn’t give that away, Oswald didn’t know what would.

“I don’t care what you _do_ or _don’t do_. I gave you a direct order and expect you to _obey_ that order,” Oswald reminds him with a firm tone to get his point across.

“You’re not wearing a costume,” Victor points out, testing Oswald further.

“Who’s the boss?” Oswald demands.

“Seriously?” Victor responds in a monotone voice.

The bartender is wiping off the counter, pretending as if he’s not eavesdropping on their exchange back and forth. He even goes so far as the clear the countertop of any bottles or shot glasses. But Victor’s resolve hasn’t crumble yet and he swiftly motions for another shot and the bartender hesitantly pours him another. He slides the glass over to Victor, gauging the tension between the two men squabbling.

“Who’s. The. _Boss_?” Oswald repeats more slowly this time.

He knocks Victor’s drink off of the countertop as the hitman reaches for it, making both Victor and the barkeep flinch a little in surprise. The bartender occupies himself by going to the other end of the bar to serve a couple, not wanting to get caught up in their affairs.

“You are, sir. You’re the boss,” Victor mumbles under his breath, hanging his head down like a child who has just been scolded. “As long as you keep paying me, that is.”

“Good,” Oswald grins smugly.

He digs around in his pocket, producing a candid snapshot and sliding it front of Victor. Victor snatches it up, smoothing out the creases, and gives it a once over. He furrows the muscles where his brow line would be and looks over towards Oswald with an inquisitive gleam in his dark eyes.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” Victor inquires, holding up the snapshot of a rookie from the GCPD.

“That man just so happens to be wearing your costume,” Oswald informs, grinning from ear to ear. “I want you to take it from him by any means necessary.”

“Excuse me?” Victor chuckles in disbelief. “You want me to murder a cop and wear his uniform?”

“Problem?”

“Look, I’m all for killing cops,” Victor says proud smile, letting it fade slowly as he takes Oswald’s words into consideration. “But do I really gotta dress up like one of those pigs?”

“Don’t pout,” Oswald consoles, patting Victor’s back in a mock display of affection. “Just be glad I'm not making you a fairy princess. You don’t wanna end up like Butch do you?”

He then gestures over towards the stage where Butch can be seen prancing around the stage in his tutu as people pelt him with candy. Victor’s jaw clenches at the thought of being put through such humiliation but admires Oswald’s tenacity for keeping Butch in line.

“If you come back wearing the costume I’ve picked out, I might have a special treat for you,” Oswald beckons, hoping to spark some interest.

“So you’re paying me back in cavities?”

“Well, if letting you have your way with me causes cavities, then yes. I suppose I am,” Oswald murmurs into Victor’s ear with a sultry voice, catching the usually reserved assassin off guard. “How does that sound for fair?”

“And what makes you think I want that?” Victor challenges with a murmur of his own as he leans in close to Oswald. His dark eyes pierce straight through Oswald’s icy ones, gauging his resolve.

Victor has to admit, the idea of having his way with Oswald for the evening definitely sounds appealing, especially having him beg for it. He wouldn’t hurt Oswald in the way he usually does, like he did with Butch, but he would definitely make the brat scream before the night was over. Maybe then Oswald would see just how _diverse_ his services can really be, and perhaps the waddling little psychopath would respect him a bit more.

“There's no way you’d let me do anything like that anyway,” Victor finally states resolutely, thinking he’s being played for a fool.

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Oswald replies with a cocky smirk, quirking an eyebrow suggestively. “Besides, what choice do you have?”

 _He has a point_ , Victor thinks ruefully, clenching his jaw.

Oswald slides the photo of the cop back over towards Victor, tapping it incessantly until Victor snatches it up and stuffs it in his suit pocket. Victor ignores Oswald’s smug face by signaling for another shot, slamming it down before being on his merry way.

“Don’t make me wait too long,” Oswald calls over to Victor’s retreating form.

***~*~*~*~***

About an hour later when all the festivities came to an end and the patrons have cleared out of the club, Oswald sent his men home for the night, expecting company shortly. Oswald waddles to his office in the back, getting a little irritated that Victor hasn’t shown up yet. Maybe he decided to bail instead of being bullied by the likes of Oswald.

Oswald was aware that Victor knew he would never hurt or punish him harshly because he was infatuated with Victor, which is why Oswald would probably let someone like Victor walk all over him. That was the whole point of this in the first place. Perhaps he overwhelmed Victor.

Oswald knows he’s probably jumping the gun and assuming things after all it’s only been an hour and all he gave Victor to go on was a photo, no address or known hangouts. Halloween was almost over and Oswald knew he was just getting his hopes up, but he still had to give it a try right?

When he finally makes it back to his office and swings the door open he’s greeted to the sight of Victor leaning against his desk, decked out in an official GCPD uniform that still had blood on it from where the hitman had shot the officer in the gut. The whole get up was complete with a baton, cuffs, and even a hat, which Victor pulled off tremendously by the way.

Oswald was so taken aback by his appearance that he didn’t know what to say at first. He was too gobsmacked by Victor actually showing up and wearing a genuine police uniform. The sight of Victor with a perpetual scowl on his face and his hands gripping the lapels of the standard GCPD jacket got his pulse thrumming with adrenaline.

“O-Officer, w-what are you doing here?” Oswald stammers out, putting on his best innocent face he could muster.

“We’ve had a few noise complaints in this area. A lot of complaints against this fine…” Victor gestures around the office with the baton in his hand. “... _establishment_ of yours, as it were.”

“Well, of course officer. It’s a night club,” Oswald points out as if Victor is a five year old. No doubt coming off as snotty. “That’s bound to happen.”

“Are you trying to get smart with me, Mr. Cobblepot,” Victor asks, taking a step forward to crowd Oswald. He pokes Oswald in the chest with his nightstick to pin him against the wall.

“No, sir, that’s not what I intended at all,” Oswald gushes, portraying the embodiment of innocence itself.

“Because I don't appreciate it when little punks like you give me sass,” Victor goes onto say, towering over Oswald as he digs the blunt end of the baton further into the shorter man’s chest. “I might just have to put you in handcuffs if it happens again. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

“Oh, of course not sir,” Oswald says way too sarcastically, because that’s _exactly_ what he wanted.

Still, Victor keeps up with the charade, backing away from Oswald so he can start grilling him for answers and the like.

“Good,” Victor says, nudging Oswald with his nightstick once more.

Victor strolls around the room, taking in the decor as he swings the baton around proactively. Oswald stands there, back still against the wall and stiff as a board, taking in the sight of Victor’s brooding form. Oswald has to admit that he’s always had a thing for men in uniforms, that’s why he picked it out specially for Victor, but he didn’t know when exactly this kink started.

If he had to guess it would have to be around the time he first met Jim Gordon. The man could definitely pull off a uniform and maybe he’d prefer it if the detective were here instead, but Victor would have to do for now. Besides, Victor wouldn’t be afraid to get a little rough with him.

“What exactly goes on at this establishment, Mr. Cobblepot? If you don’t mind me asking,” Victor inquires as if he’s in deep thought.

“Well, I host shows for a very prestigious and selective crowd. We have quite a few acts ranging from up and coming solo artists to some pretty wild bands. You’re welcome here any time if that’s your thing,” Oswald offers with a nervous chuckle, watching Victor.

“I used to come here when Fish Mooney was still running this joint. It was pretty wild then,” Victor states, sighing as he turned back to Oswald. “When did you come into ownership of this establishment?”

“About five months back, give or take couple,” Oswald responds meekly when Victor’s dark eyes come to rest on him. “Why?”

“You’re running this place legally, right?”

“Um, l-legally, sir?” Oswald echoes with a stutter, revealing the truth to Victor right then and there.

“Yeah. Like a permit or a license in your name stating that you own this property and it’s assets,” Victor recites, committing fully to his role as an officer of the law even if he despises it.

“Being a man in my position, I don't have to trouble myself with trivial matters such as paperwork,” Oswald offers, hoping that Victor will get the hint that he’s a powerful man.

“So, illegally then?” Victor concurs.

“Well, if you wanna be technical.”

Oswald chuckles, trying for a light-hearted sense of humor and failing when Victor’s stoic expression doesn’t budge. He slowly approaches the hitman dressed as a police officer, ducking his head meekly when he comes close enough to portray a certain level of submission.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Oswald adds, palming a couple hundred dollars inside Victor’s free hand. “I’ll make sure you’re rewarded handsomely for your silence. If you catch my drift.”

Victor pulls his hand away to look at the filthy crumpled up bills in his hand, scoffing at them in disgust as if he’s insulted by the insinuation. He tosses them back at Oswald’s face, making him flinch. His once reserved gaze is replaced by one of contempt as he advances on the shorter man.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to bribe an officer of the law,” Victor declares with a firm tone, nudging Oswald with his nightstick once again. “That in itself is a very serious offense.”

“You’re absolutely right officer,” Oswald confesses, grasping the front of Victor’s blood stained uniform shirt. “I’ve been a _very_ bad boy, sir. You should arrest me.”

“ _How_ bad?” Victor urges on, gripping his baton in both of his hands tightly.

“Well, let’s just say that I don’t always pay off people with money,” Oswald tells him with a bedroom voice, reaching out to lay the flat of his palm over Victor’s chest. “I’m a naughty boy and I should be stopped at once.”

Oswald drops down to his knees and grabs at the front of Victor’s slacks, staring up at the man before him pleadingly. He purposely gropes at Victor’s crotch in lingering strokes, coaxing life into the already half hard member.

“I think I might be one of those sex fiends, sir. I should be locked up before it gets really outta hand.”

“I think I know what you need,” Victor affirms, propping the end of his baton just underneath Oswald’s chin to raise his head up further.

He trails the blunt tip of the baton slowly across Oswald’s lips, making them part on reflex which, in turn, prompts Victor to smirk triumphantly.

“Suck it,” Victor orders firmly. “Make sure you get it nice and wet.”

Oswald shudders bodily, licking his dry lips nervously, and opens up his mouth, letting Victor slide the hard, cold cylinder of plastic into his waiting mouth. Oswald wraps his lips around the nightstick and begins to suck on it obediently, pretending as if it were an actual cock. And he spares no expense when it came to moaning wantonly or grasping the base of the baton for support. Victor can feel himself throb at the display before him.

“You’re hungry for it aren’t you, you dirty little slut,” Victor marvels, thrusting the stick into Oswald’s mouth in tandem with his bobbing. “If only they could see what a filthy whore their _King of Gotham_ is. Down on his knees and sucking like a champ. Definitely isn’t your first time, is it?”

Oswald moans something that sound like _uh-uh_ and shakes his head bashfully, lashes fluttering every so often. Oswald grabs the base of the baton and starts to stroke it, working it over like it was Victor’s cock and fuck does he wish it was. Maybe next time and Oswald _hopes_ there is a next time.

“Good boy,” Victor congratulates, pulling the baton free from Oswald’s mouth with a pop, causing the shorter man to whine. He places the nightstick on the desk behind him. “Don’t worry. I have something better for you.”

Victor grabs Oswald roughly by his arm and hoists him up before slamming him into the desk so that he’s laid out across the width of it. Oswald has his hands splayed out over the desktop, gripping at the smooth surface futilely when Victor snatches up both of his wrists. He can hear a jingling of metal coming from behind him of which he can only assume are the handcuffs.

And as sure as he thinks this, not a moment later are they being _tightly_ secured around his wrists. Victor handcuffs Oswald’s hands behind his back and he watches as the shorter man pointlessly struggles to get out of them. Well, not so much to get out of them as to test their resistance. This little display of powerlessness pleases Victor.

Victor reaches around to the front of Oswald’s pants and undoes them with swift fingers before shucking them down his thighs to expose his bare backside. The naughty little shit wasn’t wearing any underwear. Victor can’t help but grin at this as he picks the silva slicked baton back up and poises it at Oswald’s entrance. Oswald is swaying his ass back and forth, making it difficult for Victor to line up it properly.

Victor promptly smacks Oswald’s ass to get him under control.

“Quit squirming you filthy skank,” Victor barks out, raising his voice and slapping Oswald on the ass once more to get his point across. “I’ll give you what you need soon enough. Unless, of course, you wanna take my cock dry. I bet you’d get off on that, huh?”

Oswald can only whine as he complies and cries out immediately as he’s breached by the cold instrument. The spit coating the hard plastic is hardly enough to make him comfortable, but that’s not what this is about. Oswald wants it rough and raw. He’s not a delicate flower, besides soft and sweet wasn’t really in Victor’s job description anyway.

“Oh, fuck!” Oswald exclaims in a drawn out groan.

The baton is being jaggedly thrusted into him almost painfully so, but he grits his teeth and takes it like the good little bitch he is. Oswald’s been fucked before and he’s used toys, but being violated by a nightstick was something else altogether. It was way too hard and had no resistance or bend to it, but that somehow turned Oswald on even more. Suffering and pain was all he was used to and it was refreshing to be reminded just how alive he was every once in awhile.

“Mmm, look at your body just swallowing that nightstick eagerly as if it were a cock,” Victor praises, twisting and thrusting the baton at a regular pace. “You’re taking it like a good little whore. I bet you want more, huh? You want the real thing in that tight hole of yours, stretching you open until you’re loose and worthless.”

“Yes, officer! I’m a naughty little bitch and I need correcting,” Oswald pleads, pulling against the cuffs around his wrists until they dig painfully into his sensitive flesh. “Please, sir! Please fuck me! I need to be punished.”

Victor deems this satisfactory enough and slides the nightstick out of Oswald’s ass with a rough yank, causing the crimelord to gasp out harshly. Oswald bangs his forehead against the surface of the desk in frustration, whining because it hurts and moaning because it’s just not enough. Oswald becomes restless once again and starts to squirm around proactively, earning him another swift swat to his ass. He immediately stops, knowing Victor must be brimming over with smugness. Victor nudges Oswald’s legs apart further and positions himself behind him.

Victor undoes his fly with deft fingers, swiftly pulling his cock out without even bothering to rid himself of his pants. Without further delay, or a proper moment of reprieve for Oswald, Victor spits into his hand and grips the base of his hard cock to shove it shallowly into Oswald’s body. Oswald tenses automatically, trying to push Victor out of his body. He has to fight his natural instincts to stop Victor’s cock and instead relax his body to welcome Victor’s intrusion.

“Come on. Be a good little bitch and open up that ass of yours,” Victor demands, slapping Oswald some more to coax him.

The crimelord tries to block the blows against his tender flesh with his cuffed hands only to get them swatted away soon after.

“Keep your fucking hands outta the way and take my cock like the dirty cunt you are,” Victor practically growls, letting out his more primal side.

He usually doesn’t get this carried away during sex or any other time really, but there was something about Oswald that beckon out the worst in Victor. Maybe it was all the pent up rage from being bossed around by the likes of someone like Oswald or perhaps it was the freedom of judgement that let Victor be who he truly was. It was the first he was ever comfortable enough to be this reckless and the fact that it was Oswald only made it that much better.

He considered this payback for all the times Oswald mocked or belittled him and Oswald was loving every second of it. His cock gave an incessant throb deep inside Oswald’s tight orifice and he knew it was now or never. If he didn’t fuck Oswald soon he was bound to come like this alone.

Victor grabs the small chain linking Oswald’s wrists together and pins them to the small of his sweaty back while Victor’s other hand goes to tangle in the small tuft of hair on top of Oswald’s head. Oswald braces himself for what’s about to transpire by planting his feet firmly to the ground and taking deep, shallow breaths as Victor slowly pulls out before slamming back in ruthlessly.

The air is punched out of him and Oswald barely has enough time to recuperate before Victor repeats this slowly a few more times. Once Victor deems his body is use to his cock enough, he starts pounding away at Oswald as if he’s a regular fuck machine. He yanks on Oswald’s hair hard enough to pull his head back painfully so, drawing out even more of those wonderfully tortured sounds that are music to Victor’s ears.

“How does that feel? Have you learned your lesson yet?” Victor inquires with a ragged and rough tone, snapping his hips more firmly each time. “Or would you rather be gang banged by the whole GCPD? I bet Jim Gordon would have a thing or two he’d like to get off his chest. I bet you’d enjoy that.”

Oswald gives an involuntary moan of approval at this and Victor gives him a firm little smack to make him shudder. Victor’s getting close, surely as close as Oswald must be by now, but he doesn’t want to end on a note like this so he thrusts more jaggedly, making Oswald’s own erection to nudge against the edge of the desk, and pulls on Oswald’s hair until it feels like the follicles are going to rip out.

“I know you have a thing for him. And I know you’d probably rather it be him than me fucking you right now,” Victor acknowledges, thrusting even harder at the thought because it makes his blood boil. “But _I’m_ the one who's fucking you. Not Jim. And if you wanna come, you have to tell me one thing…”

“Yes, officer! Anything! Please just let me come,” Oswald begs pathetically like a bitch in heat as his body shifts violently back and forth with each brutal thrust.

“Who’s the boss?” Victor murmurs into Oswald’s ear menacingly.

“You are! You’re the boss, Victor!” Oswald proclaims, gasping when Victor intentionally nudges the head of his cock against his prostate. “Please fuck me until I come! I need you Victor! All of you! Please come inside me!”

“Now there’s a good little whore. I barely had to break you in,” Victor chuckles darkly as he lets loose and starts to really give it to Oswald. “You be a good bitch now and come for me.”

He pounds away voraciously at Oswald’s backside as if it’s nothing more than a warm hole and loses himself quickly in the sensations building up all along his cock as Oswald clenches around him tighter. He drills into Oswald further as the shorter man beneath him is screaming out his orgasm with Victor’s name on his lips, tightening his body around Victor’s cock like a vice until the hitman is coming as well.

A shockwave resounds throughout their joined bodies, wracking them with orgasmic tremors. It’s the hardest either of them has ever came and they knew nothing would be able to top it after this. All they had now were the tiny aftershocks and the harsh echoing of their hot panting filling the room. Victor is crushing Oswald with his body but the shorter man is too strung out from his orgasm too care.

“Fuck…” is all Victor can say in response to what just happened and it oddly seems fitting.

“Right?” Oswald pants back, wincing as Victor pulls out, letting his release escape with him.

“Why can't it be Halloween all year long?” Victor inquires on a steadying breath.

“It doesn’t have to be for us to do this,” Oswald suggests from his position on the desk.

“Really?” Victor asks with disbelief despite what just happened.

“Really,” Oswald deadpans. “Now get off of me and undo these damn handcuffs before I change my mind.”

“You’re the boss, sir,” Victor replies with a smirk.

“Damn right I am.”


End file.
